


challenge four

by orphan_account



Series: Summer Pornathon '14 [4]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Masturbation, Modern AU, Power Imbalance, Summer Pornathon 2014, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 15:32:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2275050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr P, Merlin's teacher, was hot. And a colossal prat. Merlin thought Mr P might be flirting with him (like, <i>constantly</i>). Problem was, Mr P was too fucking professional--so Merlin needed a plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	challenge four

**Author's Note:**

> Challenge four, tropesmash. I chose 'power imbalance, masturbation, age difference' for a teacher/student setting with a bit of dirty talk. Teacher!Arthur and student!Merlin.
> 
> This entry (like all others) is the initial, i.e. longer, version, not the 750-max-words of summerpornathon.

The first time he met Mr P, he thought the man was a colossal prat. He came into the classroom in all his glory of tousled hair and white teeth, sprawling out all over the front desk with splayed legs and crossed arms. When Mr P raised his eyebrows, Merlin observed the tilt of them and thought _arrogant_ , and when the first thing Mr P said was, “I’m not going to flirt with any of you girls, you’re way too young for me, so don’t even bother trying,” Merlin snorted.

Those arrogant eyebrows immediately focused on him. Merlin fought the urge to flinch. Having a teacher’s anger directed at him wasn’t something that usually happened—he _might_ be a bit of nerd—but that cocked head and curved mouth screamed ‘entitled prick,’ and Merlin didn’t really do well with those. It was like sticking Umbridge into a room full of pissed off Hogwarts students; dangerous at best, deadly at worst.

“Is there something you’d like to share with the class, Mr...?”

“Wylt,” Merlin said. “Merlin Wylt.”

“Well, do enlighten us, then,” Mr P said, and, yes, confirmation: the man _was_ an arse. He added: “ _Mer_ lin.”

And because at least three-quarters of Merlin’s browser history consisted of ‘British hunk fucking twink,’ and because no British hunk had ever spoken Merlin’s name like _that_ , Merlin thought, _God, I need to hear him say ‘fuck’_ , and said, “You didn’t say anything about boys, sir.”

That was the start.

*

And that should have been the end of it.

He spent a detention cursing his ill-advised, tragic attraction to blue-eyed, blonde twats. Merlin was never one to moon over things he couldn’t have. A good-looking, out-of-his-league bloke he had the hots for? An enthusiastic wank or two, perhaps three, usually sufficed to get the jerk out of his system.

Mr P, however…

Well, Mr P pointedly did not continue his pillockish existence. Because Merlin’s life was shite like that, and fate seemed to have decided that the ultimate revenge for Merlin’s smart-arse comment seemed to be bloody _feelings_.

Mr P—“call me Arthur” —revealed himself as a diligent, easy-going teacher, whose smiles dimpled in pride when his students said the right thing. His eyes lit up whenever he could lure a shyer kid into saying something, and he was disgustingly, grossly _noble_ in that anachronistic shining-knight-in-armour manner he had going on when he met up with those students whose parents were broke outside of office hours to tutor them for the upcoming exam without requiring payment.

Mr P said, “Please,” and, “thank you,” encouraged critical thinking, invited them out to ice cream after they aced their exams while still remaining perfectly professional, and looked bloody, bloody fit with the first two buttons of his shirt undone.

Good was that Merlin’s crush thing didn’t seem entirely one-sided: Mr P called them all by their first names but only said Merlin’s in _that_ way. He stayed longer after class to chat with Merlin whenever Merlin (very accidentally, for sure) took longer to pack his bag. His eyes lingered longer on Merlin than on anyone else. He indulged Merlin’s continued puns and teasing and bantered right back, throwing in an exasperated grin or two. Even though Merlin was way too young and decidedly not a girl, Mr P flirted back. Merlin was so fucking _sure_ about that.

Problem was, Mr P was too fucking professional.

He flirted back, yes, but always only just so. Always on the edge. Enough to keep Merlin’s interest up and going; not enough to step past his sodding professionalism.

But even the most professional jerk had to waver sometime. It happened seven months into their acquaintance: Mr P offered them all a free after-hours tutoring session for their History A-levels, and nobody declined, knowing Mr P would fake bringing only salad and water and dig out the crisps and coke with that shit-eating grin of his not much later. They stayed well into the night, and while most students left red-eyed and exhausted at about ten, Merlin stayed behind, caught in a discussion on medieval warfare with Mr P. It was one of Merlin’s favourite topics in the world, and, yes, of course it had to be Mr P’s favourite too, because Merlin’s life just sucked like that.

He wished Mr P would suck too, but, hey. Wishful thinking and all that. Never hurt anyone.

But, God, you couldn’t just stare at your student with bright eyes, as if entranced, say, “There’s something about you,” hushed, without not meaning anything by it. Even if you pulled back a moment later, paling, horrified, and ended the night in an overly quick, distanced manner.

That was so not on.

Merlin needed a plan.

*

While the plan ‘pretend collapsing in a corridor before Mr P’s eyes’ may not have been brilliant, it certainly _worked_.

Very much on accident, the corridor in question was one with only a closet. Merlin mumbled something about needing to sit down badly when Mr P came running by, and out of a nearby closet peeked, equally very much on accident, a chair.

As soon as Mr. P stepped inside, Merlin shoved the chair outside and closed the door.

Mr P immediately whipped around. “What—?”

Leaning against the door, Merlin said significantly, “I was hoping we'd have a _private_ tutoring session.”

Mr P went all wide-eyed and spluttering. “Merlin, you know this isn’t—”

 _Oh, no. You’re not doing that_. “There’s something about me,” he said boldly, staring Mr P down.

Mr P was a prat but no liar. He paled, avoiding Merlin’s gaze. He remained that way, letting Merlin wait, nervous. At last Mr P glanced up. Once his eyes met Merlin’s, they stayed there. He was wearing that look he always wore when he stared at Merlin thinking no one saw. It was something soft, something tender. “Merlin,” he said, quietly, “we can’t. You’re my student, and—”

Merlin actually laughed from relief. “I’ll graduate in a month,” he reminded Mr P, grinning. “And if you don’t help me out here I’ll probably fail my exams anyway. My hand won’t work anymore due to... well. Um...”

He thought ‘overwanking my wrist’ might be a bit crude, so he went with, “Overworking... my wrist.”

Mr P’s groan became a strained laugh. “You’re impossible,” he said. Merlin’s chest clenched at the fondness in his voice.

“Well, I mean, technically nothing happens if you just...” Merlin swallowed. “If you just, just talked and—didn’t touch me.”

Mr P stilled. Merlin, biting his lip, let his hand travel down his body, slowing when he reached his hips and stopping just at the top of his thigh. The entire atmosphere shifted, dipping into something thick and thrilling, when Mr P nodded, slow and deliberate.

The _snik_ of the zipper was obscenely loud. The hardness of Merlin’s prick was obscener; it was leaking precome already, eager. Merlin felt crazy, felt powerful, stroking a hand up his length, making Mr P lick his lips. “Is that the something about me?” he asked, hushed, couldn’t help himself.

Mr P looked up, lips parted. He stared one moment, two. Then it was a flurry of, “Yes,” and, “ _No_ ”, and, “I just—”

“I know,” Merlin said, breathless. So he _was_ right. There _was_ something about him. He swallowed, had to keep talking to make this easier. His heart was a heavy, incessant throb in the base of his throat. “I’m—I’m a good boy, Mr P. Figured that out all on my own. Like, like the good, clever boy I am.”

“God,” Mr P said. “Your mouth—”

Mr P’s face was flushed. His hands were fists by his sides, and his trousers were _tented_ : his cock was a thick, clearly outlined slope that made Merlin’s mouth water. A shock of heat bolted through Merlin’s body, leaving behind goose bumps. Hazy, Merlin thought, _he likes it, he likes my mouth_ , and then he was already saying, “Am I a good boy,” tugging harder on his cock, harder, faster.

“Merlin—”

“Mr P, tell me—tell me I’m—”

Between one blink and the next, Mr P was right in front of him, his palms against the door, one on either side of Merlin’s head. He didn’t touch, but he looked down Merlin’s body, at Merlin’s cock, long and curved, while looking crazed, _wrecked_ , himself, brows heavy, jaw clenched. He was breathing calmly, deeply, like it hurt him. “Arthur,” he said roughly. “If you’re a good boy, you’ll call me Arthur.”

Merlin made an inhuman sound. “Arthur. Arthur, yes, I—”

“My good boy is honest,” Arthur muttered. “Tells me what he wants. Are you my good boy, _Mer_ lin?”

Merlin’s hand was a blur on his dick; he was so wet his furious wanking produced squelching sounds. “Yes.” His next breath was replaced by a groan as the fantasy burst forth: “I want you—you fucking me, over your desk, where anyone could come in, and see—” He choked. “—see you fucking me, oh, God—”

He imagined it: Arthur’s broad body bent over his thinner, younger one, that thick cock in his own skinny arse, pounding forceful, fast, good—and, God, yes, did he _need_ that—

Arthur, tilting his head, murmured, “Such a good boy.” The words were a hot exhalation against Merlin’s skin, pulling it taut with a delightful, slow ache; their physicality shocked Merlin into orgasm, and he stuttered, “oh, oh, _oh_ ,” when he came.


End file.
